Dawn's Intervention
by Cloud93
Summary: Some good old fashioned Dawn bashing, in which she gets a visit from her conscience.
1. Default Chapter

Title:  Dawn's Intervention

Author:  Cloud9

Summary:  A little bit o' good old fashioned Dawn-bashing, in which she gets a little visit from her conscience.

Time Frame:  Mid Season Six.  So sue me, we haven't gotten to Season Seven yet here in South Africa.  Deal.

Rating:  PG for some profanity, but really, it's hardly a Tarantino movie.

Disclaimer:  The only thing I own is my dignity.  And that'll probably be gone by the end of the story as well.

Author's Note:  I wrote this in the looooong period my modem was bust and I was internetless. (The horror, the horror!)  But now that I am back online, my reign of terror begins anew, with some Dawn-dissing.  Yep, Dawn mockery, fun for the whole family…

Feedback:  Yes!  What writer doesn't appreciate fair, constructive criticism?  Me, so write good things and gushing compliments.  Flattery will get you everywhere.

Dawn's Intervention 

It was a typical evening when Dawn came home, clad in a warm and cosy coat and beret.  She flounced upstairs, calling to see if anyone was home.  Willow popped out of her room, bottle of mineral water in hand.

  "Hey Dawnie, you're home kind of late.  Where you been?"

  "Uh, me and Janice were watching videos," she fibbed.  Willow nodded and took a sip from her water bottle, not really listening.

  "Uh huh, that's nice," she said, more concerned with fighting the withdrawal symptoms, and figuring out ways of getting Tara back for some gay loving.  Dawn noted her inattention and fumed.

  "Buffy not back yet?"  she asked, her voice turning slightly cool, "I thought today she ended her shift at Doublemeat early." 

  "Must be patrolling.  

  "She spends hardly any time at home anymore," Dawn sulked, mentally adding _and hardly any time with me_. 

  "She does seem to be spending a lot more time patrolling nowadays.  Wonder what she's doing that's so important.  Anyway, I've got to study."  Willow took a swig of her water and retreated into her room, leaving an annoyed Dawn.  She flounced into her own room, shutting the door behind her.  Moving to her bed, she glanced around guiltily, more out of habit than a fear that anybody might be watching.  She unbuttoned her coat, and about fifteen pounds of stolen jewellery fell to the ground. Underneath she wore a maroon leather jacket which was beautiful, hideously expensive, and still had the security tag attached.  

  Then she unzipped the leather jacket and shook it, causing a further twenty pounds to tumble out.  She removed another three layers of stolen clothes, until she was down to her bra.  From there she removed two more handfuls (or should that be cupfuls) of jewellery.  And she took off her bra to reveal another bra, a brand new wonderbra.  Hidden in her beret was another pile of shiny necklaces and earrings, and a goldfish.  It hadn't survived the trip, and Dawn looked at its still form sadly, as she shook a few charms and bracelets out of her shoes.

  It had been a productive day, she reflected as she munched on a doughnut she had snatched from an obese mallgoer.  She put the stolen goods in a box marked 'Private!!!!!' in glitter pen, the 'i' dotted with a little smiley face.  Putting on her pyjama, she settled down to sleep, her thoughts turned to which stores she would hit the next day.  She drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that she would never be caught.


	2. Dawn's Intervention

Part two:  Dawnie gets a visitor during the night. (Ew, not like that.  She's only 15.)

Sometime in the night she awoke, sensing someone was in her room.  She saw a figure standing at the foot of her bed, obscured in shadow.  

  "Buffy?" she asked in a small voice, "Is that you?"

  "No, not Buffy," a woman's voice answered.  It was not completely unknown, but sounded vaguely familiar.  Dawn resisted her usual reaction of screaming to get out as curiosity got the best of her.  

  "Who…who are you?"  Her mind raced with all of the female villains Buffy had faced, yet she could not place the voice.  

  "I am here to teach you a lesson," the figure said as she stepped into the moonlight.  Dawn recognised her as soon as she saw her.  "I am–" 

  "Winona Ryder!"  The girl jumped out of bed in excitement.

  "I'm your conscience actually, here to teach you the error of your ways"

  "Then how come you look like Winona Ryder?"  Dawn asked smugly.  Her conscience rolled her eyes.

  "I have no form, but take on the form best suited to help you."

  "Uh huh, can I have your autograph?"  The Winona Conscience sighed.

  "I'm not really Winona Ryder, I've just taken on her shape as a way to get through to you."

  "This is SO cool, Janice is gonna be so jealous when I tell her Winona was in my bedroom."

  "Look kid, this is just an incarnation I've taken.  I'm not her, I just look like her."

  "Yeah cool, whatever" Dawn grinned, not having heard a word Winona had said, "So how was it like kissing Richard Gere?  For an old guy he's really hot."

  "Let's get to the business at hand.  Your kleptomania problem."

  "Huh?" said Dawn, stumped at the nasty polysyllabic word.

  "Your shoplifting habit."

  "Oh that.  That's boring, can't we rather talk about your movies and fame and stuff?"   

  "No, as your conscience it is my duty to stop your five-fingered discounts.  It's wrong, and you know it."  The teenager stared at her uncomprehending, her mouth wide open.  "You know, wrong.  As in not right?  Bad?  Against your moral values."

  "Really?"  said Dawn, whose moral compass had a big hairline crack down the middle.  The Winona Conscience saw that this might take awhile.

  "When you steal something, you're hurting people."

  "No I'm not.  It's kinda a victimless crime."

  "You're hurting yourself…"

  "Hell no.  I don't hear myself complaining."

  "And your family"

  "Buffy?  Please, like she'd even care.  Too busy flipping burgers and killing demons."

  "Your friends."

  "Yeah right.  They're too into their own stuff.  As for my highschool friends, they're cool with it."

  "Uh…the department stores?"  

  "They make millions every year.  A few little trinkets –big deal."

  "A few?"  Winona opened the closet door and a year's worth of stolen merchandise slid out.  The pile reached as high as her knees.  

  "Like I care.  I'm fighting the system, taking on the Man," she explained, sounding horribly like Larry from _Dharma and Greg_.  "I'm Robin Hood, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor."

  "The poor being yourself," Winona said sceptically. 

  "Hello, my sister's a minimum wage fry chef."

  "Anyway, not all the places you've stolen from have been big department stores and franchises.  You've taken things from the Magic Box."

  "Which is owned by Anya, which is reason enough.  She treats me like I'm eight years old, and she's really greedy, and she has funny hair."  Dawn tossed her own long, gloriously shiny hair as she said this.

  "You're just trying to justify something so obviously immoral."  Dawn looked thoughtful, and for a second Winona thought she might be getting through.

  "Can I ask you something?"  The actress-shaped Conscience leaned forward expectantly.  

  "Of course, that's what I'm here for."

  "Why'd you do _Lost Souls_?  That movie totally sucked."  Winona resisted the urge to slap the young Summers.

  "Recap.  I'm not Winona.  I'm your conscience.  Therefore, I never did any of her movies and can't explain about them."

  "Ok," Dawn said cheerily.  Winona allowed herself a small hope that maybe she'd actually understood.

  "Now back to your klepto…stealing problem."

  "I'm not the one being stolen from, it's not my problem."

  "You shouldn't be doing this.  It's dishonest…"

  "And immoral and I'm a depraved person blah blah blah who cares.  Read my super glossy lips.  I.  Don't.  Care."  Winona saw that it was time to change tack.

  "So maybe you don't consider it morally wrong.  It is however against the law so definitely criminally wrong."

  "Watch me quiver in fear," she said sarcastically.

  "They're watching you.  You may not think they'll find out, but sooner or later, they will.  The long arm of the law always finds you."

  "What am I, like five?  Plenty of people get away with crime.  Big stuff, like murdering and mugging.  I can easily stay free if I'm careful.  Especially with the Sunnydale PD.  They are so freakin' incompetent."

  "There will always be the fear of detection.  Worrying if someone's seen you, if this'll be the one time you're caught."

  "That's half the fun of shoplifting.  The adrenalin."  

  "The paranoia, the guilt, you won't be able to live with yourself."  The expression on Dawn's face showed she clearly could.  Winona leaned against the wall, exasperated.  This one was a tough nut to crack.

  "By the way, Dracula was in town last year and he totally doesn't look like Gary Oldman.  That movie's completely inaccurate.  Vampires are so not like that."

  "Off topic.  And again, not Winona.  Just a manifestation of her.  Alright, there's a risk involved.  Maybe you won't necessarily get caught.  But if you do?  What then?"

  "Like that'd ever happen."

  "If it does.  Hypothetically.  Think of the consequences of your actions."

  "I'm fifteen.  They won't throw me in jail."

  "They won't let you go either."

  "Actually, they probably will.  First offence, no priors."

  "They could throw the book at you.  You'd end up in some juvenile detention centre, somebody's bitch."

  "I'd get off easy, I watch _The Practice_.  They defend these obviously guilty slimeballs.    They're all with the 'This guy may look like a murdering creep, but he's really innocent' and they always let him go.  So I'll just hire a good defence lawyer."  Damn, the kid watched way too many courtroom dramas, Winona thought, cursing David E. Kelley under her breath.

  "Is that really a risk you're willing to take?"

  "Pretty much yeah.  Anyway, my sister's the Slayer, she won't let anything happen to me.  She died for me, you really think she'd let me go to juvie?" Dawn scoffed, secure in the knowledge that she was untouchable.     

  "Oh for God's sake, isn't there any part of you that feels remotely guilty or scared about what you're doing?"  Dawn thought about this for a moment, then shook her shiny head.  The Winona Conscience sunk to the floor, groaning in frustration.  

  "You are so not going to convince me."

  "I will dammit! I am going to convince you to stop shoplifting if it's the last thing I do."   

  "Sure, you will…oh and FYI, that robot role you did in _Alien: Resurrection_ –robots don't talk like that.  Trust me, I've met enough."

  "Last time I'm saying this.  I am your conscience, not Winona freakin' Ryder.  I have never met Winona Ryder.  I do not know anything about her movies.  I don't care.  The only reason I've taken on the form of Winona Ryder is I thought you'd be able to relate.  So STOP asking me inane questions!"  Dawn's face screwed up in concentration.

  "So…you're not the real Winona Ryder?"

  "_Sigh_, no."

  "You're my…conscience?"  She pronounced the last unfamiliar word carefully.

  "Yes, that thing that distinguishes between right and wrong."

  "Wow, a conscience.  I didn't think I had one of those."

  "You don't actually.  I'm freelance."

  "So technically, you're not actually mine at all."

  "Well, no, but for tonight I'm yours.  So there."  Winona dismissed the question with an irritated hand gesture.  "Back to the reason I'm here.  Moulding you into a moral, law-abiding citizen."

  "Yeah, whatever."  Dawn seemed to have lost interest.

  "I'm not getting through to you appealing to your ethics or your sense of good judgement.  Maybe you don't think anything bad will happen to you.  But look at what happened to me when I shoplifted."

  "Uh…you?"

  "Yes," she answered in a voice dripping with impatience, "Me."

  "I have a question."  

  "What the hell is it?"  Winona Conscience grimaced, expecting a question on working on some movie or with some actor.  

  "If you're not really Winona Ryder, then how come you're talking about her experiences of shoplifting like you did them?"  _Now_ she fucking got it, the conscience thought.  She began knocking her head against the wall repeatedly.

  "Look, just work with me here, Ok?  The whole point of appearing in this incarnation is the shoplifting connection.  So let's just pretend I really am Winona for a little while.  But only with the shoplifting thing.  Not with the movie thing."

  "Fine," Dawn answered sulkily.

  "Like I was saying.  Look at what happened to me, your _conscience manifestation of Winona Ryder_.  I thought I'd never get caught, but I was."

  "Oh?"  

  "One moment I was a rich, famous celebrity.  The next, a thief."

  "Good point."  Dawn looked uncertain.  Winona was excited, it looked like she was finally getting through to her.

  "And I had access to the best lawyers.  Still, the jury found me guilty."

  "That's true…"

  "So you see what I'm trying to tell you?  Take my experiences as an example."

  "Sure.  You got caught, bringing tons of free publicity, and managed to breathe life into your flagging career.  And even though you were found guilty, you got away without doing any jailtime.  So in your case, stealing was a good thing."

  "NO!  That's not what I…You know what, you wanna go on shoplifting, do it.  Shit, rob a bank for all I care!  Become a professional pickpocket, hijack a bus, do whatever the hell floats your boat!  Don't mind me, I promise I won't bug you about it one bit!  Ok?!  Ok?!"  A throbbing vein in her forehead accompanied Winona's rant.    

  "Cool," Dawn smiled, mistaking the angry outburst for approval.  The Winona Conscience took out a paper bag and hyperventilated for a few minutes.  When she was calmer, she turned back to the girl.

  "Whatever.  My work here is done, I'm going to find someone who might actually benefit from my guidance.  Maybe one of your housemates.  God knows they need me, the stuff they've been up to the last few months."

  "So you're going already?  Can't you pose for a few pictures with me first?"

  "Sorry, not in my job description.  I'll be next door harassing the witch."

  "Who are you going to appear as?  Cause you can't be Winona Ryder again."   

  "No, I'm still trying to figure that out.  I'm thinking maybe someone witchy, like Melissa Joan Hart."

  "I would've figured you'd go as more of an addict type, like Robert Downey Jr or somebody."  

  "Na, he's not quite right either.  Help me out here, there's got to be someone ideal."  The two of them thought about it for a few seconds before inspiration hit.

  "Shannen Doherty!" they exclaimed simultaneously.  

  "So bye and good luck on that whole conscience thing."

  "Thanks.  I'd wish you luck with the not stealing thing, but that would imply I care which I no longer do.  Hope I never see you again, goodbye."  And with that, Winona Conscience disappeared in a cloud of sparkling blue light.  Dawn looked around stupidly.

  "She's gone," she said, stating the bloody obvious.  There was a knock at the door, and a few seconds later Buffy entered, her hair and clothing dishevelled.  

  "Hey," she greeted.  "Thought I heard voices in here, so I came to see what's up."          

  "Oh, no need to worry.  That was Winona Ryder."

  "Winona…"  Buffy gave Dawn a funny look, wondering why she was imagining Winona Ryder in her room instead of say, Heath Ledger.  _She's been spending way too much time with Willow and Tara_, she decided.   

  "Not really Winona Ryder, just a freelance conscience who looked like her," Dawn clarified.  Buffy still looked perplexed, and Dawn sighed at her older sister's stupidity.  "Just kidding.  I was actually just having a bad dream and talking in my sleep."

  "Oh.  Right."  Buffy accepted this explanation, having spent the requisite family time with her sister and eager to get back to her own Spike-shaped thoughts. 

  "So, rough night patrolling?" 

  "Huh?" asked Buffy, her mind too busy thinking back to her latest night of passion with Spike to process.  Dawn repeated her question, looking more sullen as she did.  "Patrolling, that.  Went great, he banged me real good…I mean, they banged me up real bad."  Buffy smiled innocently, proud of her quick recovery.

  "Uh Buff, your blouse.  It's on inside out.  And torn."

  "Those darn vampires,"  Buffy muttered as she looked down at her top.  

  "And your pants are on backwards."

  "Oops," she said weakly, hoping Dawn believed her vampire story.  If she found anything out, it would all be Spike's fault.  Stupid Spike, with his stupid ripping of clothes, and his stupid cheekbones, and his stupid chest, and his stupid muscles, and his stupid di-

  "You're drooling on my bedspread."  Dawn's voice broke into her reverie.  Buffy was longing for the privacy of her room and turned to go.  She caught sight of the open closet door and the big pile of stolen jewellery.

  "What's all that?" she quizzed, momentarily distracted from her naked Spike thoughts.

  "That?  Those are just…some things I bought and most definitely did not steal," Dawn lied, complete with sweatiness and shifty eyes.

  "That's nice," Buffy replied, not questioning the fact that her sister had no job and no way of making money.  "Good night."  

  Buffy left, and Dawn settled back into the bed, not even as annoyed as she usually was over being ignored.  She was too excited over the events of the night, and the visit from the Winona-like conscience.  As she drifted off to sleep, one thing in particular Winona had said stuck in her memory.

  _Hmm, I wonder how hard it is to rob a bank anyway?_

Finito.


End file.
